Risks
by Elphie Marky
Summary: Mark knew being with Roger meant taking some risks. MarkRoger
1. Worries

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Rent.

**Chapter One**

No one ever knew what Mark was thinking except Roger. His mind was a mystery to the world and no one ever really knew his reasoning for things, except Roger. Even though his eyes showed his every emotion, no one ever really paid attention. Except Roger. But sometimes, even Roger didn't know what was running through the mind of the filmmaker. Now was one of those times.

They were sitting on the couch in their favorite position. Roger was sitting up, leaning on the arm of the couch with his legs stretched to the other end. Mark was half on his legs, half in the little space between them with his head resting on Roger's chest and the rest of him curled up in a ball.

"What's the matter, Mark?" Roger asked, his hand idly running up and down Mark's back in a gentle scratch.

"Nothing," he replied.

Roger knew this was pure bullshit. Even though he didn't know what was wrong, the clues were all there. In his eyes, in his voice, in the way he tensed up at Roger's touch. "Tell me," he sighed. "Mark, what's the matter? Are you scared?" Maybe that was it. Maybe Mark was scared about his upcoming appointment. He always did tense up when those came up – but never this much.

Mark nodded a little. "I guess I'm just a little nervous, more nervous than before." He sat up and turned around to face Roger, still in his lap.

"You're never this tense though," Roger reasoned. He got a good look at Mark's cloudy blue eyes. He could tell Mark was more than a little nervous.

"Well, we've been lucky so far, but there's always the chance that we messed up one time and I-"

"I don't think I could forgive myself," Roger looked away, "if I got you sick too."

Mark winced. "Rog, you know I'd never blame you. I put myself at risk, and it's okay if-"

"No, it's not," Roger's voice was harsh. "I can't lose anyone else to this fucking disease."

First it was April five years ago. True, it wasn't the AIDS that killed her, but more so the fear of what was going to happen. Then it was Angel. She drummed her way into our lives for less than a year. Two years after that, Mimi went. No one thought that Roger was going to heal after that devastating loss. It was almost worse than how he was when April died, but somehow, he pulled through. Maureen always said it was because of Mark. And Mark liked to believe that. That he was the reason his best friend had any will to live and love. Collins went just last year. He seemed happy to go, eager to get back to his Angel.

"You'll never lose me," Mark said, snuggling closer. "I'll always be with you."

Wednesday, the day Mark had been dreading, finally arrived. He woke up earlier than Roger and just laid there, watching Roger sleep. His wavy hair decorated the pillow and the thin white sheet rose and fell with his steady breathing. Mark almost didn't want to wake him up – he looked so peaceful, so happy, so alive.

He leaned down and gently kissed Roger on the mouth to wake him.

"Mmm," he opened his eyes and saw Mark. "That's my favorite alarm clock."

Mark laughed. "Good morning."

"It's too early to be awake," he stretched his arms and yawned. "Why'd you wake me?"

"It's Wednesday," Mark replied somberly, his laughter and momentary good mood fading.

"Oh…"

Mark was fine until they got onto the train to the hospital. He sat in one of the little plastic chairs next to Roger. First, his hands started to shake. It was almost violent, as if his hands were having a seizure. Roger's face twisted in confusion. He reached his hands down to steady Mark's.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Mark nodded. "Just… scared."

Roger nodded, taking Mark into his arms, allowing the boy to lean his head on his shoulder. "It's okay. I was scared too."

Roger thought back to when he was tested. It was three days after they found April and her suicide note, if you could call it that. It was more of a death sentence than anything, but Roger took her seriously. He remembered Mark taking him to the hospital. He remembered lots of questions. He remembered a blood test. He remembered going home and just crying. He remembered hitting Mark for taking away his heroin – the only good thing left in the world now that April was gone, he had said. He remembered crying to Mark. He remembered test results. He remembered more tears and more of endless comfort from Mark. But then he remembered healing and how good it felt to move on. He had learned to live with it. Although he prayed to whatever deity that might be up there that Mark wouldn't have to move on, he knew he could with some help.

"It's our stop," Mark said quietly. He stood up, stumbling as the train slowed down. Roger found his hand in his own and led him off the train and the few blocks toward the hospital.

The waiting was always the worst part. Whether it was in the waiting room anticipating the test itself or the living room expecting the mail, Mark couldn't stand it. That's where he was always the most uneasy.

"I just have this feeling," he said as Roger filled out the paperwork. Mark's hands were shaking too bad for him to write. "I've never been this freaked out before. Just this inner gut feeling."

"Like a premonition?" Roger asked scrawling Mark's birthday into the box.

"Almost, but more of a feeling than a vision," he replied.

"Mark Cohen?" an overly perky nurse with a clipboard called from the desk.

Mark stood up slowly. "Come back with me?"

Roger nodded and stood up too.

"Is it okay if he comes?" Mark approached her. Roger followed, still writing things on the papers.

"Sure," the nurse nodded. "Just sit in this room and someone will be in shortly to administer your test."

"Thank you."

Shortly, a young man came in to give Mark his test. The test that may prove his worst fear or the test that would make him kick himself for worrying so much. The test that decided between living and dying.


	2. Urgent

**Disclaimer:** No, I still don't own it.

**Chapter Two**

"Hello, Mr. Cohen," the man greeted, "I'm Dr. Steve."

"Hi," he replied meekly, his voice shaky.

"Do you have any reason to believe that you're HIV positive?" he asked, picking up a clipboard.

Mark nodded slowly. "There's always that chance. We're pretty careful, but-"

"Have you slept with anyone who was HIV positive recently?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Him?" Dr. Steve pointed at Roger. They both nodded. "Um, Mr. Davis, I presume?" Another nod. "Did you also contract HIV from homosexual relations?"

"No," he replied. "Heroin."

"I see," he jotted something down on the paper. "Well, I'll just get everything ready. Mr. Davis, are you done with the paperwork?"

"Yeah, hold on," he said. "Mark, how tall are you?"

"Um, like five foot eight I think."

"Okay," he scribbled it down and handed the clipboard to the doctor.

"Great," he accepted it. "You can go sit in the waiting room and Mark will be out as soon as the test is over."

"Can't he stay with me?" Mark asked from the table. "The nurse said he could."

"I'm sorry, but our policy distinctly states that only blood relatives and spouses are allowed in here while the test is administered," Dr. Steve replied. He turned to Roger, "You'll have to go."

Roger gave the doctor a dirty look and went over to Mark. He took one of his shaking hands and leaned his forehead against Mark's. "You'll be fine," he kissed him softly and gave Mark's hand a squeeze. He walked out, flashing another dirty look at Dr. Steve and went to sit in the waiting room.

Mark sat quietly, looking at the ground. "Why couldn't he stay?"

"I'm sorry, it's in our policy," the doctor replied.

This time, the needle taking the blood away hurt more than usual. The questions seemed more prying. Mark just wanted to get out, to get back to Roger, to get this over with.

"That's all," Dr. Steve smiled.

Mark nodded and hopped off the table, scurrying out of the room. "Rog?" he asked, entering the waiting room.

Roger smiled when he saw the filmmaker enter. Hugging him, he whispered, "How was it?"

"It was worse," he replied, "because you weren't there."

"I've never been with you back there before," Roger took his hand and led him out of the building.

"Yeah, I know," he replied. "But the one time I needed you with me, they give us the asshole doctor who follows every inhumane rule there is."

"It's okay, I'm here now."

"Yeah, and I guess that's what matters," Mark said, snuggling against Roger as they walked to the train.

"It's going to be a long two weeks," Mark mumbled into Roger's chest as they lay in bed that night.

"It always is," Roger replied.

"But this time…"

"Just shut up about this time," Roger snapped. "You're making me worry more than I usually do."

"I'm sorry," he said. "But you've been through this; you know what it's like to wait."

"But I knew what my results were going to come back as," Roger said. "You don't. So I guess it is a little scarier for you."

"Scary all the same," Mark reasoned. "But I was there for you, so you'll be there for me, right?"

"Always," he pressed a kiss to Mark's forehead.

"That's all I need to know," Mark said closing his eyes and heading off to Dream Land in Roger's arms.

The two weeks came and went. Mark and Roger were having their daily wrestling match – which usually just turned into a make out session – over the remote when the phone rang. Roger, who was on top of Mark, pinning the smaller boy down and dangling the remote over his head, stopped and told him to listen.

"Speeeeeeeeeak."

"Hello, this is the Free Clinic of New York City calling back with test results for Mr. Mark-"

Roger hopped off the couch and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Mark Cohen?"

"No, he's busy," Roger lied. Well, it was not really a lie. Mark had grabbed the remote and put on his favorite show, which Roger never let him watch. "You can just tell me though."

"Okay," it was the same nurse that had let Roger back in the room before Mark's test. "His results are in. When would you like to schedule an appointment to come down? It's rather urgent."

Urgent. That word took him by surprise. "Soon," Roger tried to fight back his tears. He talked with the nurse for a few more minutes, giving short yes or no answers.

"What they say?" Mark asked when Roger hung up.

"We have to go back down tomorrow to pick them up," he said, sitting down.

"They didn't tell you what the results were?"

Roger shook his head. "They just said it was urgent."

Urgent. The same thing the doctors told Mark when they called with Roger's results all those years ago. The same word that proved Roger's fate would now dictate his.


	3. Results

**Chapter 3**

"You aren't shaking," Roger observed as they sat on the train again.

"Huh?" Mark looked away from the window and at Roger.

"I said you aren't shaking," he repeated.

Mark looked at his hands. "I didn't notice."

"Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," Mark replied.

"Those glasses don't hide everything," he shot.

Mark nodded. Roger was right. "Urgent doesn't always mean …positive. It could mean something else, right?"

"Maybe you're pregnant," Roger grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "Sex can do that too."

Mark smiled a little. "I almost wish I was…"

Mark and Roger sat in the waiting room for a good hour before Dr. Steve entered. They approached him hand-in-hand when he called Mark's name.

"Just Mark," Dr. Steve smiled smugly.

"I'm coming with him," Roger stated.

"I'm sorry, but policy says-"

"I don't really give a fuck what your stupid policy says. Mark needs me and when Mark needs me, I'm there for him. I'm coming with him whether you want me there or not."

"Please?" Mark looked at the doctor with pleading eyes. "I'd need him to be with me this time."

"Fine," Dr. Steve rolled his eyes.

Roger smiled triumphantly as he followed the doctor into his small office. They sat down in the small chairs in front of the desk as Dr. Steve sat down behind the desk. The desk had pictures of his family – a wife, a little girl, and a couple of dogs.

"You're daughter looks like your wife," Roger said.

"Thank you."

Roger didn't think it was wise to say that he didn't mean it as a compliment, but he really didn't want to get kicked out when Mark needed him most.

"The results?" Mark asked nervously.

"Oh yes," Dr. Steve picked up a pile of papers. "There is no easy way to tell you this," he began, "but your results came back HIV positive."

Mark nodded and looked at his feet. He didn't want anyone to see him cry, although he knew full well he would sob to Roger when they got home. He was almost surprised. But didn't he know this was going to happen? He had that gut feeling even before he got tested. Should be angry with someone? Roger? The doctor? April, even?

He felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. He looked over at Roger who was also trying not to cry.

"As we do for our patients, your first prescription of AZT is free, but after that you'll have to pay," Dr. Steve continued to explain. "I see you don't have any insurance, so that doesn't help."

"We've always found a way to get it," Roger said. "Even when it was just Collins, we always got it. We'll be all right."

"Of course," Dr. Steve smirked. "Determination helps."

Roger huffed and crossed his arms. He had never really liked doctors, especially not Mr. Cohen. He was always calling to make sure his poor little Marky didn't have the flu every winter. Sometimes he was worse than when Mrs. Cohen called.

Mark looked up and wiped away a few tears. "How-how long will I have to live?"

"Well, otherwise you're relatively healthy," the doctor looked over a chart, "you're not overweight and you have no family history to hold you back, so as long as you take the AZT he thinks you will so easily come into contact with, you'll be all right for a little while."

Mark nodded and looked at Roger. "Well, he's made it for a long time, so I guess I should be fine."

"Here is your prescription," the doctor handed Mark a slip of paper. "If you have any more questions or concerns, you can call and speak with someone who specializes in HIV."

Mark just nodded. "Let's go, we need to get your prescription too."

Roger stood up quickly. "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"I recommend home schooling your daughter," he grinned, "because I don't see many boys smitten over her in the future." Mark grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out of the office before the doctor could register Roger's remark.

"Roger!"

"What? Did you see her?"

"Yes, I saw her," Mark said, shoving the paper into the pocket of his pants. "That was really mean though."

"But it was funny."

"Yeah, it was funny, but that doesn't make it right."

"Yes it does."

"You have no logic, did you know that?"

"Yes, but it was still funny."

Mark just laughed. There was just something about Roger's nonsense reasoning for things that just made him smile. "We have to stop at the drug store."

Roger nodded and entered the small store. Mark approached the counter and handed the man the slip. "I also have to pick up a prescription for Roger Davis."

The man nodded and handed him Roger's medicine before heading into the back to prepare Mark's. Mark thanked him and left the store with Roger in tow.

"How much does the AZT cost?" Roger asked. He really had no idea, never actually having to pay for it. It was always Mark doing everything for him and god knows Mark's wallet wasn't big enough for two prescriptions, half the food, and half the rent.

"It's fine, Rog, I'll take care of it," he shook it off. After all, he was the only one that made any money.

"That's not fair, Mark, I want to help for once. What is it? I'll pay for mine, yours too even."

Mark shook his head. Taking Roger's hands, he looked his lover in the eye and said, "I can take care of it, I promise. And if I can't, we can always ask Maureen and Joanne for some money."

Roger nodded. Although he really wanted to do this on his own, he knew Joanne would find out eventually and insist on helping out. Deep inside, that made him happy, having friends who cared. "Okay, but I want to help too."

"Why? You've never had any opposition to me or Collins paying for your AZT before until now. Why the change?"

Roger looked away, tears welling up in his eyes. "Because… because I don't want to take you for granted anymore. I can't anymore," he pushed Mark against the wall of the subway and kissed him, their tongues entwining, bringing a brief bliss to the tragic day. "Before today, I never realized how much I loved you."


	4. Maureen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Rent.

**A/N:** I'm not too happy with this chapter, but it's more for Marky to realize some stuff. The next one is better. Not only do reviews make me happy, but they also make me update faster. –grins-

**Chapter 4**

Mark waited until Roger was out of the loft until he called Maureen. Still adamant about paying for his AZT, he headed over to CBGB's to see if Dave would give him his old job back. Dave and Roger had been good friends, but they really hadn't talked since Roger got sick.

He had scrounged up all the money he had hidden in his room. Enough for one prescription of AZT, his share of the rent, and three boxes of Cap'n Crunch. The doctor was right and Roger was wrong. There was no way they could do this on their own. Mark dialed Maureen's number and slumped down in the kitchen chair as the phone rang in his ear.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey Maureen, it's Mark."

"_Hey, baby, what's up?"_

"Listen, I really hate to ask this, but um, do you think you could lend me some money? It's either food or AZT this month and… I don't want Roger getting any skinnier…"

"_No, no, no, it's fine,"_ Maureen said on the other end. _"Anytime you need something, just call. Joanne and I are happy to help you two."_

"Thanks, I really, really appreciate this," Mark talked into the phone, "I'll be over soon."

"_Bye."_

Mark arrived at Maureen and Joanne's cozy apartment a half hour later. He looked tiny and scared when Maureen answered the door and welcomed him inside.

"Here, baby," she shoved an envelope into his hand and let him come inside.

"Thanks," he stuffed it in his pocket. He knew there was probably way more than he needed in there, enough for maybe two more months of AZT for him and Roger. "I'll pay you back as-"

"No, don't worry about it," Maureen sat on the couch. "Marky, you look thin. How long have you been sacrificing food for Roger's medicine? You know you can always call."

"Well, we haven't been sacrificing," Mark started, staring at his hands, fighting back the tears. "It's just that now, we need two prescriptions of AZT."

"Aw, baby," she wrapped him in a hug. "I'm so sorry."

Mark leaned into her, wetting her shoulder with his tears. It was right that Maureen was the first person to know – besides Roger. After all, she was the one he and Roger came out to first. "I knew it was coming, it was all a matter of time I guess."

"You know when Joanne finds out she's going to practically become your mother."

"When I find out what?" Joanne entered the apartment, her court case ending early. "Oh, hey Mark."

Mark gave a little wave, lifting himself out of Maureen's grasp.

"Marky just needed a few bucks," Maureen explained, "for food and medicine."

"You okay?" she sat down on his other side. She touched her hand to his forehead, "Do you have a fever? Are you sick?"

"Yes," he replied. "I mean, yes I'm sick, but it's worse than a fever. I got tested a few weeks ago…" he trailed off.

Joanne nodded. "If you need anything, just call here, okay?"

Mark nodded. "I better get home before Roger gets back. He might get worried."

"Bye, baby," Maureen hugged him again, wiping away his tears with her thumb. She gave him a smile and sent him on his way.

Mark walked into the loft to find Roger sitting on the couch with his guitar.

"Where were you?"

"I was at Maureen's," he replied. "I told her and Joanne."

Roger nodded. "Dave wouldn't give me my job back. Said I was too old or some bullshit."

Mark sat next to Roger. "It's okay. I've got us covered for a little while," he patted the envelope in his pocket.

"Where did you get money?" he asked. "You weren't whoring yourself out on the street again, were you?"

"No, Roger, that was you six years ago… for heroin," Mark sighed. "Maureen gave it to me."

"Your mom called," Roger changed the subject. "She left a message," he gestured at the answering machine.

"What did she want?"

He shrugged. "She didn't say, just said to call her. You should really tell her you know."

Mark walked to the phone, but didn't pick it up. "I don't want to talk to her."

"Did you think you could get away with this forever?" Roger stood up, leaving his guitar on the couch. "I don't want to be a secret anymore. If something happens, they're going to be even more pissed because you didn't tell them."

"Do you know how fast they'll come up here and drag me back to Scarsdale?" Mark turned to face him. "They'll make me spend every waking hour in a synagogue getting saved or something."

"Tell them," Roger said, his voice firm. "Or at least update Cindy on your situation."

Mark nodded. He could tell Cindy. She was the only family member that knew about Roger. "Fine. Just Cindy."

"For now."

Mark sighed and nodded. He knew Roger was right, but he didn't want to admit it. He didn't even want to accept the fact that he was dying. And if he couldn't, there was no way in hell his parents would.


	5. Scarsdale

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rent**

**Chapter Five**

Mark put off calling his sister for the rest of the day. He waited until almost eight thirty. Her kids were little and went to bed early, and her husband worked night shifts; he had time to talk to her without distractions. He was seated on the couch, Roger asleep with his head resting in Mark's lap.

He slowly dialed the numbers and waited for his sister's soft voice to greet him.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Cindy, it's Mark."

"_Hey, how are you?"_

"Not good actually."

"_What's the matter?" _Concern had immediately flooded into her voice. _"Are you and Roger okay?"_

"We're getting along fine, if that's what you mean," he replied. "Money's tight, but we're fine."

"_Then what's wrong?"_

"I tested…" he trailed off, trying not to let his voice crack. "I tested positive."

"_I'm sorry."_

"I knew it was coming," he found his hand twirling through Roger's hair. "We were so careful, but…"

"_Shit happens."_

"Basically," he sighed. "Maureen and Joanne should be a big help, you know, if one of us gets sicker."

"_Did you tell mom yet? She called me earlier wondering where you were. She said you didn't pick up when she called."_

"I haven't even told them about Roger yet."

"_What are you waiting for?"_

"Hell to freeze over, I guess," he joked.

Cindy didn't find it too funny. _"Mark, call her back and make the death trip to Scarsdale. She's your mother, she deserves to know."_

"Dad's going to kill me. I'm already on his shit-list for dropping out of college and not having a girlfriend since Maureen." He sighed, "What am I going to say? 'Hi Mom, this is Roger, he's my boyfriend and he gave me AIDS. What's new with you?'"

"_Mark…" _she gave him the same tone Roger had given him.

"Only if you come too," Mark compromised. "I don't want to do this without someone else backing me up."

"_Fine,"_ she consented_. "Be careful, Mark. Call me if you need anything."_

Mark sighed. He hadn't heard that enough times today already. "I will. Thanks."

"_Bye."_

Mark clicked the phone off and placed it on the end table. It was before nine, still early enough to call his mom.

Roger stirred in his lap.

"Hey," Mark smiled at him. "How was your nap?"

Roger yawned. "Good. Did you call Cindy?"

He nodded. "She wants me to go visit my parents and tell them."

"I want to come." He sat up in Mark's lap, nuzzling into his neck.

"Why would you want to come to Scarsdale?"

"I want them to know who it is that loves their son," he answered. "The only impression they have is a hopeless junkie with pipe dreams of becoming famous. That's not me anymore, and I want them to know that. And I want to be there with you."

Mark smiled. "I'll call her now." He slowly dialed the familiar number to the house he grew up in, dreading his mother's annoying, high-pitched voice.

"_Hello, Cohen residence!"_ a too-cheery voice greeted.

"Hi Mom," he murmured.

"_Marky, dear, how are you? Are you eating? You sound thin."_

Sound thin? That was a new one. "Yes Mom. I'm eating, I'm sleeping, and taking my medicine."

"_Medicine?"_

_Shit,_ he thought. "Oh, uh, never mind. Listen," he tried to change the subject. "I was wondering if I could come up this weekend. For a visit."

"_That would be lovely,"_ his slip up evaded her mind at the mention of a visit.

"Roger's going to come too, Mom."

"_Roger? Isn't he a junkie? I don't want a drug addict in my house."_

"No, Mom, he's not a junkie," Mark sighed into the phone, his hand still playing in Roger's soft brownish hair. "You'll like him, I promise." At least he hoped she'd like him. "I'll see you Friday night, okay?"

"_Okay, dear,"_ Mrs. Cohen replied. "_I'll prepare your room for you and your dad will get the cot set up for your friend."_

"Thanks Mom. I'll see you then."

"_I love you, honey."_

"You too." He placed the phone on the table and wrapped his arms around Roger.

"Excited about Friday?" Roger asked.

"Thrilled," came the sarcastic reply. "Distract me, please?"

"Gladly," Roger nuzzled back into Mark and began nipping at his pale neck.

Mark moaned softly as he felt Roger's hand drift from his chest, down to his stomach, and even lower. He kissed up Mark's jaw line, eventually finding his mouth. Closing his eyes, Mark succumbed to Roger's touch as he kissed his worries away.

Nine o'clock on Friday night, Mark and Roger walked up Mark's old street. Roger regretted not stopping at the corner to kiss Mark one last time before they got to the Cohen household. Mark opened the door and dropped his bag on the ground.

"Mom?" Mark called.

A short, graying woman entered the room. "Marky, dear," she kissed his forehead and hugged him tightly.

Roger hadn't seen Mrs. Cohen in years. She had changed a lot. She was older, more gullible it seemed. He almost felt bad that this was the woman whose son he had infected. That it was her little boy he was fucking.

"Mom, you remember Roger," Mark pulled out, gesturing behind him.

Roger put on his sweet charm as he offered a greeting and gave Mrs. Cohen a hug. "It's so nice to see you again."

She just smiled and nodded. "Did you boys eat before you came? See, Mark, look at you. I knew you sounded thin."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I'm not hungry."

"How does one sound thin?" Roger inquired.

"Just listen to his voice, it sounds so malnourished," she explained. "It's usually strong and loud."

"Oh, believe me," Roger smiled, "when Mark wants something, his voice is plenty loud. Especially when he wants _me_ to _give_ it to him." He grinned wildly as Mark's face turned a bright crimson and he flashed an 'I can't believe you just implied that in front of my mother' look. "He's pretty vocal about what he wants."

"That's my boy," she smiled obliviously and ruffled his hair. "Mark, did you know Cindy was coming tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I talked to her the other day," he replied, "figured we could have a family get-together. Where's Dad?"

"Asleep."

"That sounds like the place to be," Roger yawned. "I think I'm going to go to bed. Thanks for welcoming me into your lovely home, Mrs. Cohen."

"Anytime, dear," she replied, a fake sweetness in her voice.

"I think I'll hit the hay too," Mark said. "Goodnight Mom."

"I'm not sleeping on that," Roger said, pointing to the small cot across from Mark's bed.

"I don't think it's very stable," he replied. He sat down on his old twin bed and scooted over to the edge. He smiled and patted the space beside him. "Lay with me."

Roger obeyed, peeling his shirt off and climbing under the covers in just boxers. He snuggled against the smaller blond, his head finding that perfect spot on his chest and his hand entwining with Mark's. Mark wrapped his other arm around Roger's back and kissed him softly on the forehead before drifting off to sleep.

"Boys, I made pancakes," Mrs. Cohen rapped softly on the closed door. "Wakey-wakey!"

Mark groaned, hearing the phrase his mother had used to wake him up for school when he was younger. Stirring a bit, he woke Roger, who also groaned.

"Boys…" Mrs. Cohen pushed the door open to get her son and his friend out of bed, "it's time for…" she trailed off as she caught sight of Roger half on top of her son, their legs visibly tangled from under the sheets. Her reaction was nothing more than a squeal of surprise and a thud as her body made contact with the ground.

"Shit," was all Mark could say as he watched his mother faint at the realization of why he insisted on Roger coming with him.


	6. Parents

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Rent.

**Chapter Six**

Mark sat awkwardly on his couch, isolated from Roger. He was scared, feeling strangely vulnerable as his mother sobbed and his father screamed. Roger was in the kitchen receiving an earful from Mr. Cohen. Mrs. Cohen was on the loveseat, sobbing and muttering incoherently. Cindy, who had arrived earlier that morning, was beside Mark, trying to get him to talk. He responded by staring at his feet. They seemed to be a favorite body part of his, as he had looked at them so many times in lieu of recent events.

"Can you make him stop yelling, please?" he finally acknowledged his sister's presence.

She nodded and stood up, walking into the kitchen. There was a soft voice, the yelling ceased, and bodies emerged. Roger was first.

"You sit on that chair, boy," Mr. Cohen screeched.

Roger blatantly ignored him, sitting where Cindy had been. He leaned back on the couch, his arms folded across his chest.

"I said sit-"

"Dad," Mark begged, "let him stay here."

"I didn't realize that I raised two daughters," his voice was dry, almost hurt, as he sat down next to his wife. Mrs. Cohen buried her head in her husband's shoulder, staining his shirt with her tears.

"_Dad!_" Cindy cried, angered. "Mark is your son. How could you just turn on him like this?"

"My son? My son doesn't like boys."

"Well, apparently he does," Roger's temper was getting the best of him. No one talked about Mark – his Mark – like that.

"Don't you take that disrespectful tone with me," he warned.

"Then don't disrespect Mark like that," he shot back.

Despite the tears that had fogged his glasses, Mark smiled a little. It made him slightly giddy that Roger would stand up for him.

"Boys… can't… we stop… yelling," Mrs. Cohen sobbed, pulling out of Mr. Cohen's shoulder. "Mark, why would you do this to us?"

"Do what? Is it such a crime that I'm happy?" he raised his voice a little. "I am so incredibly happy being with Roger that even when we can't afford food or AZT and when there is no heat, I'm perfectly content to lie in his arms trying to get warm. Is that so horrible?"

"Mark…" Roger whispered, the beauty of Mark's confession hitting him. His hand slinked over to Mark's grasping it tightly.

Even Cindy let out an "aw" as she watched her baby brother endure the torture of having a confrontation with their dad.

Mr. Cohen opened his mouth to reply, but he could utter no words.

"Please, Mr. Cohen," Roger looked the old man in the eye, "don't deprive me of the one little bit of happiness in my life."

"Get out."

"What? Dad, I…"

"I said get out," Mr. Cohen stood up, grabbing Mark by the shirt. "Pack your things and get out of my house. Is your goal in life to disappoint me? Majoring in art, dropping out of college, and now you're a queer? I don't even want to know any of your other secrets."

"You don't deserve to know anything else," Mark sneered. "It's not like you would care if I died tomorrow."

"You're right," he replied, "I wouldn't."

Roger couldn't help but feel guilty as he lay in bed that night. He had really fucked Mark over – worse than usual. He couldn't see why Mark would risk all of that for him. He gave up his health and his family… what was next, film? No, Mark would never give up film, not even for Roger. He knew Mark would give up something else if it required Roger.

"Mark?"

"Mm?" Mark asked from the other side of the bed.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I wasn't asleep yet," came the reply. He rolled over to face Roger, barely seeing him in the dark.

"I'm sorry," he said, "for fucking everything up." Roger looks at him. He seems confused. "I didn't really mean to make your dad hate you."

Mark shrugged. "We never really got along anyway."

"I hope I didn't fuck anything else up for you," he kept going, "like get you cut out of their will."

"It's not like I'm going to outlive them." His voice was cynical, a little regretful, but more upset.

Roger didn't know what to say to that. He was about to scoot over to take Mark in his arms, but the blond's voice stopped him.

"I'm going to sleep."

"Good night," Roger said, rolling over to face the wall. "I love you."

For the first time that Roger could remember, Mark's reply was nothing more than an "Mmhmm."


	7. Balancing

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.**

**Chapter Seven**

_Two months later_

Mark took to his camera more often than usual. He wasn't really filming much, just tinkering with the buttons and adjusting the resolution over and over again. He didn't speak to Roger much, just basic conversation to fill in the awkward silences. They said hello, they said goodbye, and they said I love you. Mark almost didn't want to say it back. He thought he meant it – he had never not meant it when he said it before. Whether it was Maureen, Roger, or Nanette Himmalfarb, he meant it every time. Roger didn't need any more worries, so Mark went along with his daily routine. He regretted not saying it back once. He didn't want to hurt Roger, but he had the right to be angry with him right? For fucking up his immune system and family life? But Roger didn't mean to, Roger would never hurt Mark on purpose. At least that's what Mark told himself every time he said those three little words. He must mean it; after all, he was practically sacrificing his life for Roger, giving up the little thing that would keep him around longer. The only thing different was the AZT. It wasn't that much of a drastic change. Just medicine, fear, and mind-racking paranoia, but that wasn't all that hard to handle.

Their sex life had changed too, but that wasn't necessarily a negative thing. It had gone from gentle and reserved to hot and wild. Roger didn't hold back anymore, letting the inner fire out. It showed most in his eyes, going from a smiling green to a fiery emerald in seconds. Mark liked to think that Roger put all his passion into the things that started with M – music and Mark. They didn't really need to be careful anymore. They were both sick, and last time Mark checked, neither of them had ovaries, so why not enjoy it?

Roger was playing his guitar more often, trying to write another song. Maybe that would cheer Mark up, a song just for him. It hurt him inside to watch Mark like this, knowing he brought it all on. It wasn't fair to Mark that he had to suffer because of Roger's mistakes. But Mark knew it could happen, didn't he? He plucked a few notes in his guitar, the familiar tune of Musetta's Waltz ringing through the air. He hadn't played it in years.

Mark looked up when he heard it. "I remember that."

Roger smiled at him. "I'm surprised I still remember how it goes."

"You played it enough to ingrain it into everyone's memory," he replied. "If I actually knew notes and strings and stuff, I bet I could play it."

"I can teach you," Roger suggested.

Mark shook his head. "Nah, I'd rather listen to you play stuff."

"Suit yourself," he plucked out one of his older songs, softly singing along.

"Take your AZT," he reminded.

"You too," Roger got up, heading to the bathroom.

"Already did," came the dry reply.

Roger nodded. It made sense; Mark had just excused himself to the bathroom ten minutes prior. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out the ugly, orange bottle. He took his prescription dry, shuddering at the bitter taste. Roger put it back and noticed his stuff was all that was in the small cabinet. Mark, being the obsessive neat freak he was, couldn't handle Roger's disorganization. He had gotten himself a small bag to keep his razor and whatever else he had previously stored in the cabinet. Roger assumed that's where his AZT was too; he didn't really feel the need to go through it. He came out a few minutes later and hovered in the doorway. "I'm going to lie down, wanna lay with me?"

Mark looked up and shrugged. "I don't know; I've got film to edit."

"Please?" Roger's green eyes went soft and warm. "I miss you."

Mark smiled. Roger's eyes always got him. "Okay," he stood up, placing his camera neatly on the coffee table. He somberly walked towards the bedroom, looking at his feet the whole time.

"In case you forgot, I went through this too," Roger tried to put his arm around the smaller boy when he got closer, "while dealing with the death of my girlfriend. Just thought I'd remind you since it was such a long time ago; you may have forgotten."

He walked right past Roger, curling up on his side of the bed.

"Mark, I just don't want this to be as hard for you as it was for me," he sat down beside him. "Look, is there anything I can do to make it easier for you?"

Mark shook his head. "No, nothing will make this easy."

"You made it easier for me," he confessed. "I never really got to tell you how much it meant when you tried to help you, even though most of the time I just cursed you off."

Mark nodded. "If I told you I was okay, would you believe me? Just trust me and know I'm all right?"

Roger thought about it. He looked in his eyes. The once soft, light blue had become foggy and dark. The blue steel of his eyes locked every emotion inside. Roger nodded. "I trust you."

Mark's hand touched Roger's cheek softly. A forced smile found his lips as he spoke. "I know you'll give me courage to face what I must face."

Roger nuzzled into his hand. "I'll be there."

Mark lay in Roger's arms that night, sleep evading his eyes. He wanted to cry, to scream, to get his frustrations out in the open. He didn't know if he could trust anyone. He certainly couldn't confide this in Roger. He knew Roger would be angry. Mark would never trust Maureen with anything this serious. True, they had mended their relationship enough to remain close friends, but she had a big mouth. Joanne would become his mother, telling Roger what was going on. Collins. He could trust Collins with this. It's time like these when he hates the sickness most. When it takes away the things you need. Things like Collins.

He softly climbed out of bed, replacing his form on the bed with his pillow. Roger hugged it sleepily, pulling it closer.

Slipping on jeans, he grabbed his jacket and slinked out of the loft. The early morning air hit his face, making him shiver. Mark hurried to his destination, sitting in the soft dirt in front of the cold, gray stone.

"I'm scared, Collins, I'm scared," he whispered to the headstone. "I don't know what to do anymore. I've made it two months without losing it, but now I'm not so sure. Two months. It seems so long. It's really nothing though, or at least, nothing compared to your ten years. I'm keeping secrets from Roger. I know it's bad, but there's things I can't tell him. I can trust you right?"

Silence. Was Mark really expecting Collins to answer him? Deep down, he wanted to hear a reassuring yes from his friend, but in reality, he knew he'd never hear Collins's voice again.

"At work last week, they found out I was sick," he confided. "Someone told them about Roger too. They said," he choked on his tears, "they said they can't have any dying queers at a respected new station such as channel four. I didn't tell anyone. I can't. Roger would go beat the shit out of my old boss. I was our only source of income besides the little bit of money Maureen gave me. We ran out of money for my AZT. Roger doesn't know I stopped taking it. He doesn't know I gave it up for him. I know he'd be angry if he knew… Collins, what do I do?" He rested his head in his hands, sobbing softly. He knew it was useless. "They all think I'm taking it so well, that I'm fine. Everyone: Maureen, Joanne, Roger, Cindy… they don't know that I'm falling apart inside. It's just a façade, Collins. But no one knows. I can't tell anyone either, I'd just get lectured, you know? Oh, who am I kidding?"

Standing up, he slowly meandered home as the sun rose, setting a fading pink in the sky. Roger was awake when he got home, sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of Cap'n Crunch.

"Guess what, Marky?" he said with a full mouth.

"I can't imagine."

"I remembered to take my AZT," he seemed proud of himself.

Mark laughed. "Good job," he walked over to him, pressing a kiss to Roger's forehead. Roger was okay; Roger had his medicine. That was the important thing, right? That Roger was still alive. "Why are you up so early? I usually have to force you out of bed if it's before noon."

"Remember that waitress at the Life that always flirts with you when we go?" he grinned wickedly. Mark nodded, blushing slightly. "I ran into her the other day and she mentioned they were hiring. I figured I'd go check it out."

"No, Roger, don't worry," Mark said, preparing his own cereal. "I've got us covered."

"But if I have a job, maybe we can have some extra stuff," he replied. "I mean, we're already saving money on condoms."

Mark elbowed him, laughing. "You don't need to though. You can stay home and write songs like you love to do." He couldn't let Roger know anything was wrong. "I've got us covered."

He shrugged. "You've taken care of everyone, that's always how it's been," he said. "It's time someone took care of you, but you have to let me in."

Mark was never good at that – the whole letting-people-in thing. He liked keep secrets and being detached. That was all part of being Mark. Then there was the friendly, loving, supportive side. That was all part of being Mark too. He just wished he could balance himself out.


	8. AZT

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rent**

**Chapter Eight**

Roger wandered down Avenue B to the Life Café. He pushed through the door and walked over to the hostess, the girl who always flirted with Mark.

"Hey, is that position still open?" Roger leaned on the podium she stood behind.

She smiled. "It is, let me go talk to someone."

"Thanks," he sat down on a little bench at the front of the café. He hummed a song while he waited for the girl to come back.

A few minutes later, she returned with the owner in tow. Roger stood up and walked towards them.

"Do you have any experience?" he asked. He seemed desperate to get the position filled.

"I bartended at CBGB's for about four or five years," he replied, "and I had a band. That's about it."

He nodded. "What was your band called?"

"The Well Hungarians," Roger replied. Maybe he ran into an old fan or something. "I'm Roger Davis, by the way, the lead singer and guitarist."

"No way!" the man replied. "Timmy, your drummer, was my little brother!"

"No shit, man," Roger smiled. "How is he? I haven't heard from him – or any of them – since I got sick six years ago."

"He, uh, he got AIDS from the drugs you guys did," the owner replied somberly. "He died a year or so ago."

Roger looked down. "I'm sorry." He knew what it was like to lose someone close to you from AIDS. He knew what it was like to live with the impending fear of death.

He nodded. "I'm Frank," he extended his hand. "When can you start?"

* * *

Roger didn't go straight home after he found out he had the job. He wanted to talk to Maureen. She knew Mark pretty well and what it was like to be in a relationship with him, so he figured he'd give it a shot. Maureen was always home, having dubbed herself a stay-at-home-mom to hers and Joanne's kitten. She welcomed Roger in and sat on the couch.

"What's up?"

"I'm worried about him," Roger said. "Really worried."

"Don't stress it, Rog," Maureen put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "If he had any secrets, he'd tell you. Or he'd tell me and I'd tell the entire world."

"Which is why he wouldn't tell you," Roger grinned. "He's hiding something, I know it."

"Ya think?"

Roger nodded. "He can be so secretive sometimes. He can hide it so well. I know when he's hiding things, but I can never tell what. I want to know, I want to be there for him like he was there for me, but he keeps pushing me away. I miss him. I want him back."

Maureen hugged Roger. "Just sit him down and beat it out of him. He'll tell you. Or snoop around. That works too. I know! Get him in a really vulnerable position, like right after sex. That's how I got him wrapped around my finger." She grinned.

* * *

Roger nodded. "That just might help, thanks Maureen."

When Roger reentered the loft, Mark was on the couch. He seemed out of it, not turning his head or offering a greeting when Roger opened the door. He silently crept over to Mark and kneeled behind him on the couch, snaking his arms around Mark's tiny waist and burying his head in his pale neck.

Mark jumped in surprise at Roger's neck, but welcomed the light kisses. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I got the job," he pulled out, leaning back against the couch, taking Mark with him.

Mark rolled over and cuddled against Roger's chest. He wanted the caretaker part of him to come out, but he let the supportive side show. Balancing himself. "Congrats."

"I miss you," Roger ran his hands through Mark's spiky hair.

"I'm always right here…"

"No…" Roger sat up, attaching his lips to Mark. His hand found Mark's arm as he stood up, dragging Mark along with him.

* * *

A few hours later, Mark laid in Roger's strong arms, his pale body slightly flushed. He cuddled himself closer to Roger's naked body, fitting his head under Roger's chin. It was a comfortable spot for both of them as they laid there in silence.

Roger broke the silence. "You know, you're really beautiful when you're like this."

Mark blushed. He smiled a little as his finger nervously traced the outline of Roger's tattoo. He looked up at Roger and his blue eyes met Roger's green.

Roger thought about what Maureen had said. Mark looked pretty vulnerable right now. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mark looked away. "I'm fine," his fingers intertwined with Roger's.

"Your eyes show your emotions, Marky," Roger said. "Except I'm not too good at picking them out." Mark laughed a little. It was a nervous laugh. "Fear, maybe?"

"Maybe."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he kissed Mark gently, reassuring him.

"There's everything to be afraid of."

* * *

Roger trudged home from the Life Café later that week, his mind deep in thought and worry. He hadn't been able to get through to Mark even though he had done everything Maureen said. Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he remembered that he needed to get his and Mark's AZT. He turned around and headed a few blocks over towards the drug store.

The little bell above the door rang as Roger pushed through and entered the tiny drug store. He approached the counter.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I need two prescriptions for Roger Davis and Mark Cohen."

The man nodded and went over to the bin. He returned with one bag. "This is the only one we have."

Roger looked at it. It was his own medicine, none for Mark. "Are you sure? Mark should have called them both in last week."

"I'm sorry," the man behind the counter said, "but we haven't had a prescription for a Mark Cohen in two months."

Mark was laying in his and Roger's bed when he heard Roger enter the loft. He didn't know what was taking him so long; Roger was usually back from the Life by now. He looked at the clock, remembering that he had to go get Roger's AZT. That had always been his job when it was just Roger sick, and Mark had fought to keep it his job. Roger didn't need any more worries or responsibilities. He looked up when he saw Roger's silhouette in the doorway.

"Hey," he sat up on the bed, "what took you so long?"

"I went to get our AZT."

"Oh…" Mark flopped back down, his hand rising to rub his temples. He knew this would end in a headache.

"I think we need to talk."


	9. Fighting

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Rent

**Chapter Nine**

"Why?" Roger sat on the edge of the bed, tossing his prescription aside. "Why, Mark?"

"I don't know," he sat up, pulling himself into a ball against the headboard. "I knew we couldn't afford it."

"Then why were you so against me working?"

"I didn't want you to worry," he replied. "I wanted everything to be like it was… before."

"It's never going to be like before, Mark," Roger looked away. "It's now. I just wish you would have told me."

"I didn't want you to worry-"

"I worry anyway," Roger cut him off. "I've always worried about this. Even before it happened. Months before it happened I worried. I'll always worry about you."

"I'm sorry…"

"You have to take your medicine," he reached for Mark's hand. "Now that I'm working, we have plenty of money for the rent and stuff."

Mark looked away. He knew Roger knew nothing of how much the rent, food, and AZT cost. Then again, Roger thought there were two sources of income. "No, Roger, we don't."

"Why not? I work and you work… that's enough."

"No, I don't work," Mark felt Roger's hand pull out of his. He tried not to cry as he explained what had happened the previous month.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Roger yelled. He stood up and walked to the other side of the room.

Mark knew he was crying. Roger wasn't supposed to cry. Roger was too tough to cry. "Roger, I'm sorry, I didn't want you to think anything was wrong."

"Everything is wrong," he slammed his fist against the wall. "Mark, you can't do this. You can't keep secrets like this, you can't stop taking your medicine, you can't do this. What's next? Anymore secrets you want to come out with?"

Mark shook his head. "I'm sorry. I just thought I could handle all of it."

"You seem to think you can handle a lot these days," Roger shot before storming out.

* * *

Mark didn't want to go out of the bedroom. He rolled over and tried to take a nap. He wasn't sure if Roger had left the loft or just the room. Mark couldn't hear anything in the kitchen. He wiped away his tears and returned his glasses to his face. Swallowing the fear that Roger wouldn't be there, he entered the other room. It was empty. Roger's jacket was gone and the Fender wasn't in it's usual corner. Reminding himself that Roger hadn't packed anything or taken his AZT with him, Mark told himself that Roger would be back soon and he had just gone out to blow off some steam. He flopped onto the couch and fell asleep. When he woke up an hour later with Roger nowhere in sight, Mark wasn't so sure anymore.

* * *

Before Roger had stormed out of the loft, he had grabbed his Fender and jacket. He walked quickly down the street, the chilly evening air beginning to sweep in. He wasn't sure where to go, but he had to go somewhere. He couldn't even look at Mark anymore. Roger had never kept any secrets, so what gave Mark that right? Looking at the street sign, Roger realized that he was pretty close to Maureen and Joanne's. He figured they'd let him stay over… and feed him a good dinner.

The guitarist rapped softly on the apartment door and walked in before Maureen could register who was at the door. He sat himself on the couch and rubbed his temples.

Maureen motioned for Joanne to put out another plate as she walked to the couch. "Something wrong?" She sat beside him and took his hand.

"He… he stopped… AZT," Roger mumbled incoherently. "We… fought… I came… here."

"What? Take a deep breath and tell me everything," Maureen replied.

Roger obliged, starting with Mark's opposition to him finding a job, continuing with picking up the AZT, ending with the confrontation. "I don't know why he would do that. I mean, give up his AZT and not telling me."

"That's just Mark. He puts everyone he loves before him," she explained. "I remember he gave up filming… whatever it is he films to pay for one of protests. It was a flop by the way."

Roger nodded. He knew Mark would sacrifice anything. "I just… I just need time to be mad at him."

The phone rang and Joanne went over to answer it.

"Hello… hey Mark." She looked over at Roger who was shaking his head and mouthing something at her. "Mark, listen to me. I'm sure Roger is fine wherever he is." There was a pause. "I'll tell him if I see him. Goodbye Mark."

"What did he want?" Maureen asked.

"He was looking for Roger," Joanne replied. "Roger, he wants you to know that he misses you and wants you to come home."

Roger nodded. "I miss him too."

* * *

Roger tossed and turned on Maureen and Joanne's couch all night. Mark's face never left his mind. He wasn't sure what Mark was doing; all he knew is that he would be worried sick. He felt bad that the boy would probably be at home pacing, just waiting for the door to open. But Roger wanted to be mad at him. It would just teach Mark not to keep secrets from him. With that thought, he rolled over and tried to fall asleep again. He knew Mark would be okay for a day or so, and Roger knew deep down that he wouldn't be able to go much longer without Mark. 


	10. Discovery

**Chapter Ten**

Joanne awoke the next morning for work to find Roger sitting on the couch softly strumming his Fender. He was scrawling something on one of her old legal pads, probably a song.

"Good morning," she greeted, heading over to the coffee maker. "Can I get you a cup?"

Roger mumbled a yes and kept playing.

Realizing she had about a half hour before she needed to catch the train downtown, she decided to take her coffee on the couch with Roger. Placing a mug of black coffee on the table, she sat down and raised her own mug to her lips. She took a sip and said, "You miss him, don't you?"

Roger nodded and stopped playing to look up at her. She could see that his matted dirty blonde hair had lost its curl from tossing and turning. His emerald eyes had faded a little. "I do," he said at last. "I miss him a lot."

"Then why don't you go home?" she suggested with a smile.

"No, I still need time to be mad at him."

"Roger, that's not going to get you nowhere," she replied with wisdom. "Leaving doesn't work; trust me, I've been there too many times with Maureen. Go home, apologize, and he will too. You'll look back on this stupid fight in a little while and laugh at yourselves. Maureen and I do it all the time."

Roger paused to think about what Joanne had said. He noticed that she said "a little while" as opposed to "a few years". Normally, Roger would be a stubborn bastard, but her words sparked something in his brain. A little while. He didn't know if he – or Mark – had a little while left. "Thanks," he said at last.

* * *

Joanne gave him a smile and a nod as she watched him gather his things and leave without another word.

With his guitar slung over his shoulder, Roger slowly took the short walk back to the loft. He wasn't sure what he was going to say besides sorry. He stopped outside the door to the loft, imagining the events of the next few minutes.

_Roger would enter the loft and find Mark asleep on the couch maybe clutching to one of Roger's old shirts or his pillow. He would sit on the edge and run his fingers through Mark's short blond hair. Mark would wake up and smile a little at Roger's return. He'd sit up and they'd both apologizing: Mark for his secrets and Roger for leaving. They'd kiss a little and cuddle on the couch. Roger would sing him part of the song he was writing and Mark would cling tight to his chest when it was over and smile. In a few hours when Mark reminded Roger to take his AZT (because he would forget), they would take it together. They would go to bed together and Mark would rest his head on Roger's chest. Roger would softly whisper 'I love you' into Mark's ear and he'd return it. They'd both mean it too. Their hands would intertwine as they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms. Tomorrow, they wouldn't remember the fight, just like Joanne had said._

Roger smiled as the scene danced perfectly through his mind. He slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Setting his guitar down, he looked over at the couch. No Mark. Frowning, he stuck his head in their bedroom. Their bed was unmade and Mark's clothes from the previous day lay forgotten on the floor, but no Mark.

"Mark?" he called. "Mark, where are you?"

No answer. Roger paced the living room, pondering the filmmaker's whereabouts. The perfect scene he had envisioned upon entering the loft evaded his mind as he searched for his lover. His eyes caught sight of the one room he hadn't yet explored – the bathroom. In tentative steps, he padded across the loft towards the slightly ajar door. Pushing it open further, he prayed for the best and expected the worst.

"Oh, god no…" his eyes widened at the sight. He stepped backwards and leaned against the wall for support as his legs gave way beneath him. He slid to the floor trying to catch his breath and hold back his tears. "Oh Mark…"


	11. Finale

**Chapter Eleven**

Regaining some of his coherency, Roger slowly crawled on his hands and knees into the bathroom and towards Mark. "Mark…" he whispered, inching closer.

Mark was lying on his side facing the far bathroom wall. Vomit and blood surrounded him, trailing from the toilet. From the back, Roger could tell Mark's hands were clenching his stomach, if they were clenching anything at all. Suddenly the blond groaned and coughed a little, something audibly escaping his mouth.

Kneeling in the throw up, Roger pulled Mark up onto his knees, trying to prevent him from choking on his own vomit.

"Roger…" he murmured. His head wobbled to the side like a newborn baby.

Roger helped Mark to straighten his head and patted his back as he coughed. He stood up when Mark finished coughing, pulling the smaller boy up with him. He gathered the pale, fragile boy in his arms, grimacing as Mark coughed again. More throw up and blood came up, dripping down Mark's chin onto his shirt and Roger's hands. "Marky, you need to go to the hospital."

"No," he shook his head, "I'm fine, I promise. Just a little bug, that's all."

"No, it's not a little bug," he carefully made his way down the steps and out onto the street still cradling the filmmaker in his arms. "Close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll take care of you."

"I just need to sleep in my own bed, I'm fine, I swear."

Roger ignored the boy's pleads and continued half-walking, half-running towards the hospital. Mark wasn't that heavy, but Roger's arms were like jelly at the sight of Mark in this state. At last, Mark had obliged and closed his eyes. His head bobbed back and forth at Roger's quick pace. His coughs and the occasional bloody stomach acid that accompanied them reassured Roger slightly. That maybe Mark would be okay; maybe he had found him in time.

By the time they had arrived at the hospital, Roger was ready to collapse from fear and exhaustion. Dropping to his knees in front of the receptionist's desk, he let Mark's body slide to the floor. Mark rolled onto his side, coughing up blood and vomit. Tears in his eyes, Roger looked up at the frightened nurse. "Help."

* * *

Roger spent the rest of the night curled up in a ball in the waiting room. He had his head buried in his knees trying to hide his tears and tune out the little girl screaming about her itchy cast. He missed Mark more than ever. He didn't know what was going to happen. Mark had been whisked away shortly after their arrival (by Dr. Steve of all people) and Roger hadn't been informed on his whereabouts and welfare. He lifted his head up to glare at the mother of the screaming little girl, but that was short-lived when he heard his name.

A short nurse was standing near the hall leading to the rooms with a clipboard in her hands. She wasn't frowning, but she wasn't smiling either. "Mr. Davis?"

Roger scrambled out of his seat, nearly tripping over his feet as he hurried over to the nurse. Wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve, he asked, "Is he okay? Can I see him?"

The nursed nodded and lead toward a room. She pushed open the door and said, "Take as much time as you need."

Roger nodded and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

Mark didn't look like Mark. His vomit-stained clothes had been replaced with a clean, white hospital gown. His glasses were removed and placed on the side table. His eyes were closed, but Roger knew he wasn't asleep. His hands lay still beside him, an orange bracelet on the right one with his name and birthday. He turned his head in the direction of the door, indicating that he had heard the sound. He was paler than usual if that was even possible and looked even thinner.

Roger made his way to Mark's bedside. It hurt to look at him, not only because he looked – and probably felt – like shit but because there was that little pang of guilt beating at Roger's conscience. He couldn't help but feel guilty, like it was his fault that Mark was like this. After all, Roger had given Mark the virus. Pulling up a small folding chair, Roger sat down and laced his hand through Mark's. The smaller boy groaned, acknowledging Roger's presence, but he didn't open his eyes. Roger rested his head on the side of the bed, keeping Mark's hand close to his cheek as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Roger awoke to a gentle shaking of his shoulder. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. Finally, he remembered when he saw a still sleeping Mark and a smiling nurse.

"Mr. Davis?"

"Yes?" he stood up, rubbing his eyes.

"I need to check up on Mr. Cohen here," her grin never faded. "The doctor would like to speak with you regarding Mr. Cohen's health. He's in the hall."

Roger nodded. "Thank you." He trudged out into the hallway and saw Dr. Steve's smug face. He looked him in the eye with a heavy glare.

"So nice to see you again, Mr. Davis," Dr. Steve beamed. "How is everything? Getting your AZT easily?"

Normally, Roger would have hit the doctor with a quick, witty, sarcastic reply. But Roger didn't have time for sarcasm right now. "What's wrong with Mark?" The worry was plain in his voice. It was the first time Roger was truly concerned about someone. Maybe because it was his fault, maybe because Mark was the first person he really, truly loved. He was scared for Mark. Mark shouldn't have to die so young. Mark couldn't die. Roger couldn't function without Mark. "Is… is he going to be okay?"

The doctor looked down at the charts in his hands. "We did some tests last night when you brought him in and were able to find out exactly what is wrong with him." His monotone voice dragged out the words slowly.

"What is it? Is he okay? Will he live?" Roger's voice was frantic.

"Calm down," he touched the brooding rock star's shoulder. "It's December. Mark just picked the wrong time to get the flu."

"That's all? The flu? Then why the blood and vomit and everything?" Not that Roger was a certified doctor or anything, but he thought that it might be more serious.

"His immune system isn't what it was," he explained. "It couldn't fight the flu as it would, so he just had a bad reaction. Also, not taking his AZT didn't help. Mark told us about that when he came to last night."

Roger nodded, feeling selfish about storming out when Mark needed him most. "But he was fine when I left."

"It can come on rather suddenly, actually," Dr. Steve replied. "He was probably coughing and sneezing for days, but you just didn't think anything of it. It happens."

"But he'll be okay, right?" Roger asked once again.

"He'll survive this," came the reply, lifting a huge burden off Roger's heart. "He just needs to stay here a few days."

"Thanks," Roger nodded.

"Now go see him, he needs you," the doctor offered a smile as he pushed Roger into the room. Had he not been shoved back to Mark, Roger would have hugged the doctor. But he knew Mark needed the hug more than the doctor.

* * *

The nurse left the room when Roger entered. Mark had woken up, giving Roger a smile when he saw him. Sitting on the edge of Mark's bed, Roger ran his fingers through the filmmaker's hair. Drawing his legs up onto the bed, he wrapped Mark up in his arms. He laid down, Mark's head finding that perfect spot on his chest.

"Don't ever do that again," was all Roger could say as he buried his face in Mark's matted hair. "You scared me, Marky, you scared me."

"I'm sorry," the blond muttered, cuddling as close as he could to the musician.

"Me too," he said, "me too. I never wanted to do this to you."

"I did it to myself, Rog, it's not your fault."

"No more secrets?"

"No more secrets."

Roger smiled, kissing his lover.

"Dr. Steve said I was going to be okay," Mark smiled, brightening the room. "I'm going to be okay."

"Yeah, yeah you are," Roger echoed. _And I'm going to be okay too,_ he thought.

Yawning, Mark closed his eyes. "I'm going to sleep now."

"I'll be right here when you wake up." Roger closed his own eyes, keeping his grip on Mark tight.

"'Night," Mark said, forming a weak fist around Roger's t-shirt. Falling asleep in Roger's arms reassured him that he would be okay. That Roger would be okay. That _everything_ would be okay. No matter what hardships came upon them in the uncertain future, Mark knew they would get by. Every relationship came with some uncertainty and taking chances, but Mark knew some risks were worth taking. Mark knew Roger was a risk worth taking.

_Fin_


End file.
